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Dear Shadow Weaver,
I want you gone. There’s nothing that I want more than I want you gone. But you won’t leave. You’re never going to leave me and Adora alone, are you?
I wish you could answer that. I wish you were here so I could knock you out before your brain could even process the question. You liked doing that to me, right? Shutting me up. I keep picturing you in front of me. My claws are stabbing my palms as I think about it: me sending a jab into your jaw, your frail body slamming into the floor like a ragdoll. You’ll never feel the grief you caused me, so you deserve that blow, and so many more.
It doesn’t feel right, though. It doesn’t feel right to do that to you, to wish that for you.
I cried when you died. You almost succeeded in manipulating me to the point of no repair, yet I mourned your death. Adora and I talked about it for weeks after. Sneaking to her room in the middle of the night, I listened to her heartbeat, she listened to my purrs, and we listened to each other for once. The noise you shoved into our ears deafened us to the kind voices. So for weeks, we listened closely to the words you raised us to neglect.
I told Adora I loved you. That was the one truth I ever believed in: that I loved you, and that I needed you to love me.
Remember that time Adora and I drew our faces on the wall? I showed it to you because I wanted to share the joy I felt with Adora, with you.
I always felt a bitter taste at the back of my mouth in the Fright Zone. The only thing that made that bitter taste dissolve down my throat was the deep pumps of my heart that I felt with Adora. I saw how horrible Hordak always made you feel. You looked so empty, barking at me and the other cadets.
One night, when Adora was snoring away, I trailed my little claws along the drawing of her face as I thought about you. I practically felt Adora’s smile in the carving—so much so, that I felt my lips jolt up into a smile. I wondered if seeing that drawing would help you feel happy again. I wondered if you might feel that same thumping heartbeat that I did whenever I was with Adora.
That was the last time I ever tried to understand you.
I pulled you by your black, razor-sharp wrists to the sleeping quarters, hopped and sprung upwards on my little feet as I jabbed my finger to point at the masterpiece Adora and I made.
As a reward for my gift, you snatched my wrist and yanked me into the air until my trembling frame was eye-level with you.
“I just wanted to give you something to smile about… I know how stressed you-”
“If you wanted to make me proud, then show me something worthy of my praise.”
My shoulder felt like a flimsy thread connecting my arm and my body together. I swayed under your grip.
“As a matter of fact, the only thing that would make me smile is to go back to the day Adora found you in that box, and command her to leave it for dead. At least then, I’d be rid of your softness, your weakness. ”
You unhinged your talons, and my body landed on the cold, hard floor with a ‘fump.’
I wish I could say I realized I hated you in that moment. Maybe I could’ve convinced Adora that we needed to abandon the Horde if I’d realized how toxic you were sooner. Maybe I could’ve convinced myself I deserved a better mother than you. Perfuma told me it would help me heal if I stopped thinking about how I could’ve been better before: it’s more helpful for me to think about how I can act differently now.
Clearly, I have a habit of dodging the truth, so this is a good place to start.
Laying there on the ground, watching your shadowy garb flow out of the sleeping barracks, I realized I needed you.
I needed to do whatever I could to appease your needs, because if my own mother thought I was a waste, then what else could I be, right? If my own mother thought I was hurting the one person who was kind to me, then what else could I be doing?
I feel like a novelist writing this. It’s so stupid. The sentences I’m writing are nothing near formal, yet the lines keep coming. I have a lot of things to say to you, I guess. Do you have anything to say to me, Shadow Weaver?
I wish you were stronger. I wish you had the ability to lower your guard and talk to me. I would have talked to you until the sky changed colors, but I’m not sure if I’m at that point anymore.
You said “You’re welcome.” When you died.
The last chance you had to open yourself to me, you said that. You could’ve said something more on the lines of the “I’m so proud of you, Catra,” but you decided you wanted to die arrogant, entitled.
I’m beyond caring what you think anymore, Shadow Weaver. You raised me a stranger, and you died a stranger. You made your choice, and you died with it.
I haven’t told Adora this, but there were times when I thought about marrying her when we were kids. I stared at her and wondered what she would look like when she grew up. My eyes traced her features so many times that I saw her sleep-fights coming half an hour before her body switched to assassin. I used to wonder what our kid would look like, if we ever had one.
I was never sure I actually wanted a kid—my role model wasn’t the greatest—but it always brought a smile to my face to think about it.
You never taught me how to raise a kid, but you sure taught me how not to raise one. I choose to keep myself open, for Adora to see, and for my child to see.
I’m sorry I was never good enough for you, Shadow Weaver. I hope you died knowing I did my best to be something to you. I can only spend so long living up to your godly expectations, though.
You made me feel like I was nothing. When I was a hostage on Horde Prime’s ship, I truly believed I was nothing. I forced myself to watch the explosions I caused on Etheria. I slept in the cold corridors, and I heard the screams of the people I killed. I walked the ship’s halls, and I saw the orange-yellow flashes of the bombs reflecting off the white walls.
Horde Prime gave me a lot of perspective about making something out of nothing. When I saw the world I created, I realized I became something in spite of your endless ‘nothings.’ I was powerful, and Horde Prime knew it. I knew how powerful I was, too.
I chose to use that power to save Adora. Adora chose to use her power to save me.
You know, if disappointing you is what it took to get me here, in Bright Moon, in Adora’s room, safe from your red lightning clutching my throat…
Then fuck it. Fuck your mask, fuck your soft touch, fuck your stupid tongue, fuck all the lies you fed me.
Fuck you.
I truly hope you’re disappointed.
Catra.